That big M tattooed on my chest? Uh, nope – just paint.
Maybe it’s the big M on my form-fitting super sexy spandex uniform of daily duties, the sequined M emblazoned on my ruby-colored cape, the glitzy grosgrain ribbon folded and tacked into embellishment in the shape of M’s, a perfect pair of M and M’s accessorizing my favorite shoes.
Lovely, the way those bow-bedeviled initials are designed with a convenient clip. I simply defrock one pair of pointy pumps, and slip the (scarlet?) M’s onto another as needed. A scarlet letter of my very own? And my fallen. . . S?
Dial M, for Murphy
Yes, I am outfitted head to toe (or so it seems) in the letter M, and no, it’s not for Moneybags, it’s not for Mysterious, it’s not for Mini-Mom, and it’s certainly not for Fernando Lamas You-look-Mah-velous! Nay, nothing so head-swelling or champagne-swilling, it’s the beleaguered branding of M for Murphy’s Law!
Quite simply, I’ve been the polite entertainer, the tolerant provider, and wish to boot the uninvited guest-in-residence OUT. I’ve had quite enough, thank you. Murphy, Murphy please no more. Might you simply move next door?
Where shall I begin?
Necessary niceties? Long gone. Structural issues? Check. Health hiccups? Yup. Technology traumas? Of course.
Wardrobe malfunctions? (No. Not mine. Try tennis or pop stars.)
- Mobile communication conundrums? Cell phone, dead.
- Second (borrowed, used) cell phone? Check. On its last (invisible?) legs.
- Computer printer-scanner-copier? Check. No pulse.
- Laptop meltdown? Check. Though I’m typing on something, right? Up to limping status. And I am grateful!
- Two house phones, dead.
- Squirrels in the attic. Exactly. Not dead.
Just part of Modern Life you say? (Damn, there’s another ML.) But let’s add to the fun, shall we? This weekend’s (increasingly usual) internet, enjoying a roller coaster of manic depressive behavior, up then down, up then down. Perhaps it’s just sweatin’ to the oldies, like I ought to be?
M for More
Anything more? Oh sure!
Lawn mower, dead. Dishwasher, dead. Fancy kitchen counter lights, dead. (I terminate here, lest I bore, as I fear.)
And then there is my sleeping. Perhaps the worst of all. No sleep, no zip, no zap, no brain refrain beyond the plain when it comes to mind-language-fingertip communication. No fun if you call yourself a writer.
(Should I call myself Lady M? Does anyone have any marmalade??)
Could it be worse, this curse? Reason to fret? You bet. All of these things cost big bucks to repair or replace, and the pace of (planned obsolescence?) of their demise is a disgrace! As for the moans and groans – blame my weary bones!
W for Winner? S for Superwoman?
So while these Murphy-manipulated items are only the most recent, the tip of the proverbial iceberg of extended visits of the big M, I know it can always get badder, and then I’ll get Madder! But I am so ready to reverse the trend, to upend the M and return to W for Winner! For Wonder Woman, for Wry Writer, for Witty Wolfie. And I’d like to boot that moocher Murphy right out of my house!
- Ever feel like Murphy’s Law is running rampant in your life?
- For those who say “you make your own luck,” is it that simple?
- How do you shake the ML curse, and if so, might you offer your wisdom, your antidote, your country estate so I may escape??
Is there a seamstress in the audience? One who might painstakingly remove each embroidered, stamped, stapled, painted, bedecked “M” from my weary wardrobe and put the “S” back for Superwoman? For Sassy? For Sensible Semi-Simpler life?
Couldn’t we go with some other “laws” instead — the laws of attraction or even the law of gravity?
(Wait… I’m still in search of that lower gravity planet so as to prevent All Bodily Parts Going South…)
Any other Superwomen out there looking to rewrite Murphy’s Law?